Sherlock's Day Off
by arthursdragon
Summary: Sequel to Homecoming. John finds a letter addressed to Sherlock from a Wedding Planner. Things progress from there.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock's Day Off (sequel to Homecoming)

Chapter 1: The Proposal

John casually walked up the stairs of 221B with the mail in one hand. He smelled something, burning. It had a stench similar to when John had treated burn victims as a doctor. Sherlock was burning flesh, lovely. He opened their door and walked into the kitchen. "Sherlock, what are you doing?" Sherlock looked up and grinned. "An experiment." John didn't want to know. He sat down and started rifling through the mail. Bills, Bills, Trash, Trash. He stopped. There was a letter addressed to Sherlock from_, London Bridges Wedding Planners._ "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Why do you have a letter from a wedding planner agency?"

Sherlock sat upright and grabbed the letter out of John's hand. "That's um, nothing, nothing at all"

He got up and started towards the bedroom. John followed him. "Sherlock, tell me why you have that letter."

Sherlock sighed. "If you must know, Mary hired a wedding planner, and she asked me to dismiss them for her."

"I don't believe you."

Sherlock pretended to be offended. "What's not to believe my dear Watson?"

He got up and tried to leave, John leaned against the door. "Tell me."

Sherlock laughed, gave John a quick kiss and moved him from the door.

He put on his coat, turned up the collar and left the flat in a hurry.

John had a feeling he knew what this was, but he was confused. Why did Sherlock Holmes want to get married? John had heard him say what a useless institution it was. He didn't know if he was ready. He loved Sherlock with all his heart, but he had just left Mary and come out of the closet two months ago. Wasn't this a bit rash? He tried to put it from his mind and look at the newspaper. _Bride Dies at Wedding: No leads. _ Great. Lets look at the sports page. _Head of Rugby Team To Be Married to High School Sweetheart At Next Match. _Oh for god's sake. Whats on the television. Let's see, BBC. Oh, that good show, _Downton Abbey_. Oh it's the part where they... get married. John let out a long sigh._ I'm in hell_. He just sat staring out the window until he got a call on his cellphone. It was Sherlock. "Hello?"

"Hello John, I'm thinking of eating out tonight, seeing as the fridge only has specimens in it. What do you say?"

John knew what this was. "Why not."

Sherlock was ecstatic. "Fantastic! I'll see you at Seven. At Antonio's?"

John gulped. "Sure. See you then."

* * *

He hung up the phone and started panicking. Sherlock was going to propose! Tonight." What am I going to do?" John thought. He flung himself into his armchair and tried to mull it over. He couldn't what was he to do? He eventually fell asleep and woke up to the sound of sirens. Shit, it was 6:40. He only had twenty minutes give or take five to get ready. He put on his best jacket, although, he noticed his usual one was missing, strange. He quickly dismissed it because his time was running out. He threw on nicer pants and shoes and sprinted out of the flat.

Sherlock was so excited, which was strange for him. He had everything set for tonight. Oh, John was going to be so excited. Well he was going to be angry first, then excited. Sherlock sat down at the best table in the restaurant, straightened his bow tie, and waited for his boyfriend.

John had a cabbie speed to Antonio's. He jumped out , paid the cabbie, and ran inside. He saw Sherlock, sitting inside, looking perfect, as usual. He awkwardly walked over to their table, with a nervous smile plastered on. Sherlock beamed when he saw him. John sat down and Sherlock gave him a glass of the restaurant's finest Bordeaux. Maybe this wouldn't be so nerve-racking.

As the meal progressed, John became increasingly welcoming to the idea of marrying Sherlock. He was absolutely ready to accept when dessert came. Sherlock had ordered two tiramisus, and John assumed a ring was in one. He excitedly dug through while Sherlock looked on, completely amused. There was no ring. John was furious, but not at Sherlock, at himself. Sherlock had never officially even given any hints, John had just assumed. How stupid was he? Sherlock saw John was aggravated and convinced him to drink a last glass of wine, to make him feel better. John agreed and chugged the last glass in ten seconds. He and Sherlock paid, and walked out to the street and called a cab. John was still angry. The cab pulled up and Sherlock got in first. John slid in next to him and felt a little woozy. He looked at Sherlock. Sherlock was grinning widely.

"Sherlock? What's..."

"4...3...2...1... and gone."

John passed out and fell on Sherlock's lap. The cabbie looked concerned, but Sherlock smiled pleasantly and told him that John was just drunk.

* * *

John woke up on a cold tile floor. He opened his eyes and saw that his was wearing different clothes, including his missing jacket. Sherlock! He looked around for the raven haired detective but he was no where to be seen. John recognized his surroundings. He was in Molly Hooper's lab. Why on earth..? Sherlock popped out and sat at a lab bench with a microscope. John got up and stalked towards Sherlock. Sherlock simply put a hand up. "Stop right there. That's where you were standing when I first fell in love with you." John didn't budge. Sherlock got up and walked over to John. "I recreated the first time we met, a few less canes and deductions perhaps, but almost the same. I loved you the minute I saw your face, and I would have proposed right there, but because it would be a bit hasty, I didn't. But now..." Sherlock pulled out an exquisite ring. At least 14 carat gold. John laughed. Sherlock slid the ring onto John's finger. " I assume that's a yes?" John laughed and kissed Sherlock and drew him into a tight embrace. The two laughed and then proceeded to make love on the lab table, breaking the microscope, but Molly could afford a new one.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

John watched Sherlock scurry around the flat for the next month, planning their wedding. At first John had tried to help but Sherlock only got testy. So John settled into just answering the odd question Sherlock asked. Such as "What color for the napkins? eggshell or ivory?" or "Roses or Lilies?" John was only allowed to write wedding invitations, because Sherlock never bothered remembering peoples names. He also let John choose the best men. One for him, one for Sherlock. Sherlock didn't have "friends" according to him, so John decided to ask Mycroft. He scheduled an appointment with him one day in February and went in to have one of the most awkward conversations of his life.

John got to Mycroft's office and opened the door to find Mycroft sitting comfortably in his high backed chair, hands folded in his lap, one leg draped elegantly over the other. He gave John a smile that really had no sentiment. Sherlock was an emotional wreck compared to Mycroft. The man could have his leg lopped off and never even flinch. John nervously sat down in an antique looking armchair in the corner of the office. Mycroft looked at him expectedly. John swallowed. "Um, as you know, me and Sherlock are getting, um, married, next month, and we'd like you to consent to be Sherlock's best man." Mycroft sat there, looking even slightly shocked. He cooly said. "My brother obviously doesn't want me as his best man, why would he have sent his fiance to ask if he did?" John coughed. "well, the truth of the matter is, Sherlock doesn't care who I pick, and well, you are his brother." Mycroft smiled almost imperceptibly. "Very well Dr. Watson, or will it be Dr. Holmes?

"We're both keeping our given names. So that's a yes, then?"

Mycroft sighed. "I suppose, yes, I don't believe in the institution of marriage, but neither did Sherlock. Maybe I just havn't met the right man. " John's eyes widened slightly. "So, you're gay too are you?" Mycroft cocked his head. "I don't really know my sexuality. I've never much bothered to figure it out. Relationships are meaningless to me." John knew this was going no where. "Well, I better go tell Sherlock that you'll be his best man. He'll be thrilled."

"Ecstatic."

John smiled at the suave figure behind the desk before hurrying out of the room. That room felt like a place where love goes to die. John took a cab home and walked into the flat to find Sherlock sitting on the floor, licking invitation envelopes, wearing different bits of fabric pinned to his shirt. He looked up and smiled briefly before returning to work. John came in and went to sit down, onyl to be nearly impaled by a pile of sewing needles. He looked up and pointed at the chair. "Sherlock, what are these?" Sherlock looked up as well. "oh, those are needles. I was using them to sew bridesmaid dresses." John was puzzled. "You're sewing bridesmaid dresses?" Sherlock nodded and pointed to his shirt. "I think I like the aquamarine best. You?" John shrugged, but saw a look of desperation on Sherlock's face. "Oh, yes, dear, Aquamarine is gorgeous." Sherlock was satisfied and went back to work. "How was Mycroft? Did he agree to be best man?" John's jaw dropped a little. He never seased to be amazed at Sherlock's deducing skills. "Um, yeah, he did actually." Sherock nodded. "And your best man?"

"I think i'm going to ask Greg." Sherlock was puzzled. "Greg Who?"

"Greg Lestrade."

"Oh, Greg..."

"Why do you constantly forget his name?"

"He's not that important."

"That's a bit cold."

"Hello? High functioning sociopath. What do you expect? Warm and fuzzy?"

John smiled and headed towards the kitchen. "Tea?"

"Oh god, yes"

John put the kettle on and went back into the living room. Sherlock was now furiously flipping through good contrat colors to Aquamarine. John sighed. Sherlock needed to do something else. He flipped through the newspaper. THere was still the same headlines. _Bride dies during Wedding. Death by Cyanide Confirmed. No Leads As To How it was Administered. _John thought this was the perfect case for Sherlock. He brought the paper over to his stressed dectective, put it in his lap and kissed his forehead. Sherlock picked up the paper. "I'm too busy."

"But you love solving murders!"

'I also love making seating your priorities straight, my dear."

John tried to coax Sherlock.

" Don't you want to make the wedding safe for me?"

"So you're saying you're the bride?"

"If it will make you stop working on centerpieces and do what you love, then yes."

Sherlock looked up and grinned. "Fine. You have now agreed that I am the groom, and that you get walk down the aisle in a veil."

John smiled. Sherlock got up and grabbed his coat. John followed suit after turning off the kettle, still grinning. Sherlock started down the stairs and John followed, stopping, the smile disappearing. "You're not going to actually make me wear a _veil,_ right?" Sherlock turned around and grinned briefly and then walked out the front door. John wasn't amused. "Sherlock I can't wear a bloody veil!"

Sherlock and John headed to where the bride's widow now lived. They knocked on the door, and a very weary,depressed looking young man answered the door. Sherlock gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'm sherlock Holmes and This is Dr. John Watson. We'd like to help find your fiance's killer." The man was slightly taken abcak that Sherlock Holmes himself was here. He stepped back and let Sherlock and John step in. The two men sat on the sofa, and Sherlock was soon bothered by an orange tabby cat. He shooed it away but it didn't pay him any attention and proceeded to sit on his lap. John laughed and Sherlock sat there looking unhappy. The man, William Hansford, sat down across from them. "Sorry about Ginger." Sherlock looked at John and mouthed _Ginger. How original. _John gave him a single glare and Sherlock looked back at the man and smiled. "We were so sorry to hear about your fiance, Samantha. The man nodded and looked down. "Is there anyone who would have had motive to kill Samantha?" William looked up. "No, nobody. Everyone loved her. She was the kindest person I've ever met, and the most beautiful."

"Who would know what Samantha did right before the wedding?"

"Um, her maid of honor, Trisha."

"Very well, we will go see her, and leave you be."

William nodded and went to show them to the door. Sherlock picked the cat up and dropped it on the floor. It scampered away as Sherlock's coat came swirling up. The two left the small house and called a cab.

John looked at Sherlock curiously. "What are you thinking about?"

Sherlock looked at John with no amusment. "He didn't do it. He was heartbroken. I can't imagine how he feels." John looked away. He knew exactly how William felt. Sherlock remembered John's experience and took his hand. "I am so sorry I did that to you, John." John looked at Sherlock's bright eyes and kissed him. "It's alright. I know now that you won't leave me again." Sherlock smiled. "Too true." They got out of the cab and stared at the shop they were in front of. It was a florist. They looked in and saw the woman they were looking for. THey casually strolled in. "Trisha?" The young woman looked up. "Yes? Can I help you?" John did the talking this time. " Yes, we're here about Samantha's death." Trisha looked sad. "What about it?" John put on a kindly face. "We know this is hard for you but did Trisha do anything before the wedding that would have gotten the poison in? Drink a little to calm her nerves, maybe? Smoke? " Trisha shook her head. "No, nothing. She was as calm as could be and happy." John shook her hand. "Thank you for your help." Trish a smiled. "Who are you?"

"John Watson."

"Goodbye John Watson."

"Goodbye."

Sherlock stalked out of the shop, John close on his heels. "What's wrong?" SHerlock spun around. "She was flirting with you!"JOhn laughed. "No she wasn't! She was married!" Sherlock glared. "Yes, I obviously know that!"

"Then calm down!"

"Fine." The two got back in their waiting cab and drove back to Baker street in silence. John got out first, and headed upstairs. Sherlock followed. "I'm sorry, John. I don't mean to be accusing but I was never able to show my jealousy before now." John grimaced.

"I just love you so much, anyone who even dares look at you makes me angry. Not to mention I don't know how the bride could have died."

John's face softened. "It's alright. Let's forget the case for now and get back to the wedding. The case doesn't seem to be much of a good subtitute for wedding stress."

Sherlock grinned. "Let's get to work."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** When Sherlock solves the murder I have no idea if any one could actually die this way. I researched it but couldn't find much helpful information. So please be kind and let's pretend someone could actually die this way even if you know they couldn't. Its not too outlandish, please be open to creative murder schemes if you would. Thank You ! Please give me **constructive **reviews!

Chapter 3

Their wedding was only two days away. John was nervous beyond comprehension. He sat outside of 221B breathing in the crisp winter air and trying to relax. He watched as countless cars drove by him, creating a calming breeze. London wasn't any different but John felt like a foreigner. He wasn't that same person he'd been three years ago. He used to be a heterosexual, emotionally broken Army Doctor with PTSD and a psychosomatic limp. That was before he met Sherlock. Sherlock had immediately seemed to John like he had an air of danger to him. Not afraid of anything. He had also striked him as particularly attractive. With those raven curls and trim form, not to mention those cheek bones and those piercing blue eyes. He had never noticed another man's beauty before Sherlock. Sherlock had completely transformed him. Now he was a practicing civilian doctor with two fully functioning legs, all his marbles, and a boyfriend. He owed Sherlock everything. He might not have been here if it wasn't for Sherlock. John got up slowly from the curb. Since he owed the love of his life that much, he shouldn't be avoiding him. He opened the door to 221B with a smile. He loved this apartment. Even when Sherlock had "died" he had loved it, the memories had just been too much. He tramped up the stairs. Upon reaching the door, he heard the violin. Ah, Sherlock was writing a song. He also smelled smoke. He opened the door. There stood Sherlock, completely surprised, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He put down the violin and tried to hide the cigarette. "Ah, darling there you are, I was getting worried." John walked up to his raven haired detective. "Hand it over." Sherlock grumbled and gave John the cigarette. John put it out and threw it away. "Why? I thought we agreed. You quit."

"Yes but I'm getting married in two days and I haven't even finished composing our first dance. "

John smiled. " Not going well?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, it's going perfectly. I accidentally composed The Blue Danube."

John looked deep into his detective's eyes. They were troubled. With more than just a composer's block. "What is it?"

"I've been thinking about that case again."

"I thought we agreed that you wouldn't worry about it until after the wedding."

"I know but I can't help it, it's automatic. I haven't found any evidence or motive as to why the bride was killed. I do think it was her bouquet though. I went to the coroner's office and found that the victim had one almost invisible pinprick to one finger. I think that the cyanide was on the bouquet, sprayed on, maybe the flowers were stored with it. The pinprick allowed the cyanide on the bouquet to seep into the bloodstream slowly, which is why she wouldn't have died immediately. It took a little while to get enough cyanide into the bloodstream, and then it caused her to die in the middle of the ceremony. What do you think?"

John scratched his head. "Um. okay."

"Nevermind, I'm going to go talk to Trisha again. Care to come?"

'Uh, yeah sure."

They hopped in a cab and went back to the Florist shop that Trisha owned. Sherlock walked in briskly, avoiding the cold air. John stayed outside and let Sherlock do the talking. His heart was racing again. He had had to much time to think about weddings on the cab ride over. What if their wedding went to hell? Something went wrong, or god forbid Sherlock chickened out? What then?" John out his back against the glass window of the Florist and sank to the sidewalk, worrying and fretting over every possible thing that could go wrong.

Sherlock walked into the florist, leaving John outside. John seemed as apprehensive about the wedding as Sherlock was. So he let him be. He walked up to the counter.

" Hi Trisha, Sherlock Holmes, remember?" The young woman smiled and looked up from the roses she was cutting. "Hello Mr. Holmes, how can I help you?" She put down the flowers, pricking her finger on the way. She cursed and put her bleeding finger in her mouth.

"Are you alright."

"Oh. yes, I'm alright. I've never not pricked myself on a bouquet of roses. So what was it you came to ask?"

"I was wondering whether Samantha's wedding bouquet came from your shop?"

"Yes, on the house of course. Beautiful pink roses and baby's breath."

"Did anyone have access to the bouquet besides you before the wedding?"

"Only my husband Harvey. He helps store and water the flowers."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, why?"

"Well I have reason to believe Samantha died from cyanide poisoning by way of her bouquet."

"You're not suggesting I-"

"No, no,no just that someone did. Maybe at the church?"

"No. no one besides me and Samantha had access to them at the church."

"Must have been here then."

"I don't know who would have. Harvey certainly wouldn't have killed Samantha. Maybe someone broke in."

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a minute. "Well I won't trouble you anymore. If you remember any helpful facts it would be much appreciated, if not, i'll call the shop when I have information. Thanks Trisha."

"No, problem."

Sherlock turned up his collar and went outside. John was slumped up against the side of the florist shop staring at the cloudless winter sky. Sherlock sat down next to him. "what's wrong?"

"What if something goes wrong? At our wedding, I mean? You're almost universally hated and feared by every killer in London. What if someone tries to kill you?"

Sherlock gingerly took John's hand and kissed it before entwining it in his. "Nothing will go wrong. I won't be assassinated, and I won't mess it up, it will be perfect."

John smiled. "Do you really believe that?"

"Yes. I really do."

John got up, releasing Sherlock's hand. "Well then let's go. We should go get our tuxedos."

Sherlock grinned. "I can't wait to rip that tux right off you the minute we get to Paris."

John smiled and the two got up and walked hand in hand away from the quiet florist shop.

John was hyperventilating. Today was his wedding. His Wedding. John and Sherlock were at opposite ends of a very nice country club outside of London, preparing to be wed. Lestrade sat in the corner of John's dressing room, already bombed, holding a bloody mary. "I always thought you and Sherlock would make a good couple. When I first met you, I thought you were gay. I am a very good detective. Very good indeed. I think I need another bloody mary. Molly walked in then, she was the one and only bridesmaid. She looked lovely. Sherlock had picked out a strapless aquamarine dress and she wore a white rose in her hair. She smiled at John and went to take care of Lestrade. He looked up at her blurrily. "ah.. waitress, can I get another bloody mary? ...What is it they say about that chap bloody Mary? She walked in the T-Tower of London, with a bloody Mary in one arm and a cat in the other..." Lestrade started singing about Bloody Mary's bloody Mary and passed out in his chair almost tipping _his_ bloody Mary on the cream colored carpet.

Luckily, Molly caught the drink and pushed Lestrade upright, proceeding to shake him awake and give him a cup of strong black coffee. John smirked, despite his present state of panic. Lestrade may have been a bad choice for best man.

Sherlock was sitting in his dressing room, only half dressed. His jacket looked lovely, but he had only one leg into his tuxedo pants, and his bowtie was hanging from his neck, untied. He was sitting at a computer. He was on the internet, searching Trisha's husband Harvey on the police database. He had been arrested once, for a domestic dispute and abuse. THere were records of several other domestic dispute calls. A violent man. And, apparently, he was a chemistry teacher. One who worked with many chemicals, including cyanide, perhaps? Sherlock thought this was the perfect suspect. He had means, opportunity. Just, no motive. Sherlock had searched and found no record of any bad blood between Samantha and Harvey or even William and Harvey. There was no evidence of an affair, or of money problems, drug problems, nothing, and those flowers were clearly meant for Samantha, the killer must have known she meant to hold them for the ceremony. Sherlock was distracted by a knock on the door. "Come in."

"Hello, brother dear."

Ugh. Perfect. "Hello, Mycroft. Here to tell me I'm a fool for willingly entering the institution of marriage?"

"You just said it, so I don't have to."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He got up from the computer screen and walked over to a full length mirror in the corner of the room. He attempted to tie his bow tie, but his thoughts were so clouded with the case and with pre-wedding jitters he couldn't remember how. Mycroft sighed and came to his brother's rescue.

"How's the case."

"Terrible. I have a suspect, but he had no reason to kill the bride."

" How do you think he did it?"

" I _think_ that he stored the bride's flowers in cyanide so she would prick her finger on the thorn and die slowly, so she would make it less obvious how she died. "

" And you say that he had no motive?"

"None whatsoever."

"Maybe she got the wrong bouquet?"

Sherlock's eyes went wide. "Of course!" He laughed and grabbed Mycroft's phone. He pulled the number out of his coat pocket and called Trisha's flower shop, there was no answer. He pulled on his coat and headed towards the door.

"Sherlock, where do you think you're going? You're getting married in twenty minutes!"

"Be back in fifteen."

He rushed out of the dressing room, calling a cab. He waited in a corridor until it arrived and ran to meet it. He gave the cabbie Trisha's address and told him to book it. He flew out of the country club and towards London.

Sherlock arrived in ten minutes and ran inside the small shop. "Trisha?" She was no where to be seen. "Trisha?!" Sherlock walked into her greenhouse area. "Trisha?" He walked around a flower bed and found Trisha. She was lying in a small pool of blood. Her head bludgeoned in. Sherlock kneeled down, checking her pulse. "Damn it," Sherlock whispered to himself. "I'm too late." He got up and turned around. He saw Trisha's husband Harvey, holding garbage bags and a chainsaw. The man looked frightened, but only for a second. He quickly regained his composure. "Can I help you?"

"I knew you killed Samantha. I just figured out that you meant to kill Trisha."

Harvey smiled. "Ah, Mr. Holmes, Trisha mentioned you. No sense denying it. It was a good plan too. I felt bad about Samantha though, she was nice. Trisha however, always made things difficult. Even killing her." He looked at the body of his wife. "I really would have preferred a neater end to all this. Now I have to kill you too." Harvey advanced towards Sherlock. Sherlock, dressed for a wedding, had no weapon. Harvey pulled a gun from his back pocket. "Sorry, Mr. Holmes. But you're a liability. "

"The hell I am!" Sherlock picked up a flower pot nearby, and threw it ant Harvey's head, momentarily knocking him out. Harvey crumpled to the floor. Sherlock ran towards the back exit. He was late for his wedding!

He ran down the street and hailed another cab. He once again told the driver to rush.

John sat at the front of the room he was supposed to be getting married in, head in hands. He knew Sherlock would do this. Molly was sitting next to him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. He heard a door open loudly and he saw Sherlock, breathless and disheveled, at the front of the room. He jumped up as Sherlock rushed down the aisle to meet him. John grabbed Sherlock. "You're twenty five bloody minutes late. " Sherlock tried to smile. "I know, I'm sorry. Shall we get on with it now?" he looked expectantly at the Vicar. The vicar smiled and began to speak. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." The vicar was cut off as the doors opened again. Harvey was standing there, a small gash in his forehead from the flower pot, and a murderous gleam in his eyes. "Mr. Holmes, you thought it would be that easy? Just run away and catch me later?" Sherlock was frozen to his spot. He glanced at John, who had his mouth agape in equal horror and confusion.  
"I know I'm going down already, so why not go out with a bang?" He pointed the gun at Sherlock. What happened next Sherlock couldn't even explain it was so fast. He heard the shot and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, John was in front of him. John grabbed his chest and took his hand away with blood. He turned towards Sherlock and collapsed. Sherlock dropped to the floor and immediately put pressure on the wound. "Call an ambulance!" Lestrade, definitely alert now called an ambulance and ran after Harvey. Guests were pouring out of the room as fast as they could and Molly was kneeling next to Sherlock. Sherlock leaned over John, tears welling up in his eyes. John's eyes were barely open. "John? Can you hear me?! Stay with me! Can you hear me?! Please, John!" John just felt his eyes close.

John reawakened in a hospital bed, surrounded by flowers and four pale blue walls of a tiny hospital room. He looked under the covers and saw a couple thousand pounds of bandages covering his chest. He looked to his right and found Sherlock there,in a small uncomfortable chair, his head bowed over his lap and his hands clenched together.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock shot up and grabbed John's hand.  
"You're awake!"

"Yes, what happened?"

Sherlock explained the entire story. How Harvey did it, how he killed Trisha, how Harvey shot John, how John had almost died and had to have open heart surgery. At the end, John just sat there with a smile on his face.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Because only you could mess up a wedding that badly."

Sherlock grinned. "Speaking of weddings."

The vicar walked into the room. Sherlock looked at John with hopeful eyes. "How about it? Marry me?" John pulled himself into a sitting position with some effort. "Why not?" The two recited their vows in the small hospital room, and kissed passionately after they said I do. Sherlock then jumped up and grabbed his violin, which happened to be conveniently on the small table near the bed. He then proceeded to play the most sweet and gorgeous music John had ever heard. When he was finished, John asked, "Was that our song?" Sherlock smiled. "Yes, I finished it that day in the dressing room. Did you like it?"

"Loved it." John pulled Sherlock down for a kiss. When they pulled apart, John looked worried. "Did they catch this Harvey man?"

"hmm? Oh, yes, actually Lestrade did. He hit him over the head with a bottle of vodka that was sitting on the bar in the reception room as Harvey ran through it. After Harvey was taken away, he then made himself a Bloody Mary with what was left."

John laughed. Of course he did.

"Are you happy, my dear Dr. Watson?"

John was quick to answer. Even though all of this had occurred, and been the doing of Sherlock, he knew this was the life he wanted. "Totally."

Sherlock took John's hand, kissed it and John fell asleep knowing that his life would be full of mayhem, murder, and danger. But it would also be full of Sherlock. With that, he could face anything.

The End


End file.
